New York City Submissive Female

"What are you doing?"

"Relax, he's under the jacket," she said breezily. Phil wasn't wearing the briefs with the convenient front entry, though. "Oh, screw it. Pull your pants down."

"What?"

"Part way down your thighs will do. Don't worry, this bench is clean, and no one can see you."

Phil wasn't sure about that, but it was too exciting to refuse. His stomach was filled with butterflies, his heart was thumping. Sue drew her finger lightly along his cock, pausing sometimes to taste the precum.

Soon he was calling the girls whores, sluts, cunts. He wanted to fuck them, he wanted them to suck his cock, lick his asshole.

"You can do better than that, master," Sue reminded him as he finished the magazine. She got up and knelt in front of him, putting her head under the jacket in quick motion.

"What are you—"

"I've wanted to do this for years," she said. "Read the hardcore. Tell me what you're reading and how you feel."

She knew his limits by now, and she kissed and licked his cock lightly rather than sucking it. Phil read, looking at pictures of spread-eagled girls, girls sucking cock, girls taking it up their cunts, up their asses. He read the captions calling girls whores and sluts. But his eyes were glazing over. You can't really think of a picture when the real thing is right under you, blowing you openly, shamelessly, in a New York bench in full public view.

"You...you whore. You're the filthiest, nastiest woman I've ever known," was all he could say.

"Thank you, master. I need something now. Can you turn to your favorite picture in the book?"

He selected a brunette, who claimed to be nineteen, posing provocatively with captions bragging about her sluttiness.

"Suck my cock, you dumb bitch."

"No."

"No?"

"Lean forward."

He did so, so that his cock pointed forward. He felt something round and hard rub on his cock. What was she—

And the shocked realization of what she was doing led his cock to explode. "Oh!" he called out, no longer caring who heard or saw. "Oh! OHHHH!"

He flopped back on the bench and hurriedly did up his pants. Sue threw off the jacket. The cum had landed on her forehead and dripped down her face. Sue wiped it away from her eyes, but otherwise just let it flow.

"Oh my god. You look so beautiful. So beautiful."

"Thank you, master."

He waited for her to pull out her wipes again, but she didn't.

"Are you...are you going to walk around in public like that?" asked Phil in a shocked voice.

"Damn straight," said Sue. "Like I said, I've wanted to do this for years."

The cum ran down her face, down her neck, leaving spots on her blouse collar. The two of them made quite a pair heading back into the city, she proud and haughty, he nervous and fearful. But he had to confess that it was an incredibly lovely and touching sight. He felt so proud of her, proud even to know her.

***

1994 it was. Summer.

Sue was back from the video store, practically bursting with excitement.

"Keith, you've got to watch this tape."

"What is it?" Keith asked.

"It's called The Story of O. It's a romance. It's French."

"French? I can't understand French."

"There are subtitles. You can read, can't you?"

Keith looked at the cover picture of a beautiful French actress.

"Wait, is this an X-rated movie?"

"Well yes, but this one actually has a story."

Keith was game to try something new if his wife wanted it. They cuddled up in the sofa and sat down to watch.

The movie did have a story. A man turns his girlfriend over to a secret society, where she promises to do whatever she's told. She is chained up and whipped—

"I can't watch this," Keith snapped, turning off the TV. "I'm going to bed."

Sue sat there, all by herself. Should she join him?

She turned the TV back on and watched the rest of the film alone. She had a few orgasms by masturbation that night, the first in years she'd had without Keith.

***

"What time do you leave tomorrow morning?"

"Ten. I'll have to leave for the airport early."

"We won't even have time for a quickie," said Sue regretfully. "So tonight's the night. I want to do it all."

"You mean — you want me to hurt you?"

"Would it turn you on?"

"But it would be wrong to—"

"Would it, or would it not, turn you on?"

Phil admitted defeat. "It would. I mean, of course part of me wants to go wild, wants to lash out. But what if I really hurt you?"

"We can still have limits. I think we can agree that anything that puts me in hospital — anything that would need any medical attention at all — is out."

"Of course. In fact, I don't want to draw blood in any way. You shouldn't feel pain for more than fifteen minutes after you leave."

Sue thought of her father, who used to leave her sore for hours. "Fifteen minutes? That's nothing."

"Okay. Now is there any part of the body you want to leave alone?"

"Maybe don't pull my hair. And don't tickle me. I think that's it. Oh, and no choking."

Phil looked taken aback. "I could hurt you...pretty much anywhere? Your mouth? Eyes? Ass? Vagina?"

"No medical attention about covers it. Oh, I guess no candle wax, or clothespins."

He swallowed. "How do you want me to hurt you?"

"We'll go to the sex shop and get something. But in the end, I want you to do whatever turns you on. If it makes you horny, it makes me horny."

"That sounds good—"

"But there's one more thing."

"What's that?"

"Rape."

The word sank into Phil's heart like a dagger.

"Rape is a crime."

"Not a real rape, silly. I'd never say no to you. This is a fantasy rape. A pretend rape."

"If you're not saying no, it's not rape."

"But I want it to be as violent as a real rape."

"Women get killed in real rapes."

"Okay, maybe not that violent. But like what we did last night, except in my cunt—"

"It's still a crime. I won't do it."

Sue's eyes narrowed. "Have you ever been raped?"

He looked shocked. "No."

"Do you know anyone who has?"

"No."

"Yes, you do."

It took a while for Phil to realize what she meant. His eyes widened in horror.

***

1983 it was. Spring. Sue awoke in an unfamiliar bed.

Where was she?

Cold hard metal bars on the side. Beeping sounds. Blue walls. She tried to sit up, and felt a stabbing pain go through her vagina. She felt groggy, confused, uncertain.

"Shh. Stay down," said a young male voice. It was a smooth voice, authoritative but friendly, calm but firm. "You've been through quite a bit."

"Who are you? Where am I?"

"My name is Keith. You're in hospital."

"Why...why..." Sue couldn't get any further words out.

"They said I had to wait here until the police arrived to take a statement," said Keith.

Sue struggled to focus her eyes. Why was this so hard?

"I guess I have to tell you. My buddies and I found you behind a dumpster on campus. There was this guy—"

Fuck. Fuck.

She was beginning to remember. She'd seen the other guy at the party. A tall, powerful build, confident smile, neatly brushed hair, an air of total confidence. She'd told herself then and there that she would suck that cock. Tonight.

She was proud of the collection of cocks she'd sucked. She knew what her parents would think, and she didn't care. If anything, that made the cum taste all the sweeter. Sue didn't need her parents anymore. She had a scholarship.

The guy had offered her a beer on the way out, a different brand from what everyone had been drinking...

"We were able to get him off you," Keith said. "He was...he was..."

"What?" Sue tried to shout, but couldn't.

"He had these rocks. He was putting rocks in your...in your..."

Pain and humiliation went through her. She'd thought herself free once she left home, free of her father's cruelty, of her mother's indifference. But no matter what road you are on, there is always one worse.

Rocks. What the actual fuck? She had been fully prepared to suck his cock. Why could that not be enough?

"I'm sorry we couldn't get you here right away," Keith said. "We beat the guy up, then I called 911. We had to argue with the ambulance to take you, they thought we had called about the guy. I wouldn't let them put you in the same ambulance as him unless they let me come with you."

"Th...thank you," she mumbled. She felt a surge of gratitude for Keith. She couldn't really see what he looked like, but his voice was so soothing and kind, it was the only thing that made her feel better.

***

Phil could not make sense of this. "If you were really raped, why would you want—"

"Because fantasy rape isn't the same thing at all as real rape," Sue said impatiently. "It's really plain old rough sex. It's just a lot more erotic to call it rape."

"But if you had it in real life, I still don't see why—"

"I don't see why either," Sue admitted. "But I do know that I want it. I think you're still holding back with me, trying not to go too far. It makes me want you all that much more. I want to completely give myself to you. To let you have all you desire."

They had reached the subway station entrance for Phil to head back midtown.

"Tonight's our last night," said Sue. "Don't think about me — think about yourself. I know part of you is curious about rape. Take this chance while you still have it."

***

The web guy from San Jose was giving his final presentation today. Nobody in New York welcomed this. Too used were they to pretentious young nerds from Silicon Valley bragging about how this or that incomprehensible tech jargon would change the world. Seeing an overweight short brown man trudge up to the stand was not a sight to inspire hope.

Then he began to speak, with a passion, even an eloquence, that they had never seen in a tech presentation. He had a spring in his step, a light in his eyes, something that had given him an infectious confidence. He posed questions. He subtly flirted with the women. He cracked jokes. It was a tour de force, the kind you expect to hear from PR, not IT. It was like opening a bottle of juice and finding the finest wine instead.

Those who had meetings with him were astounded. What had happened to so transform the shy, quiet man they knew?

There were a few oddities in the speech, of course. At one point he said, "We're going to hit that deadline. I'll hit her with everything I've got. This is going to be awesome," leaving his counterparts wondering what he was talking about.

Chapter 6

"There is a Mrs. Susan Beresford to see you," said the downstairs receptionist on the phone.

Phil was still at the office at six, luxuriating in his triumph that afternoon. "Can you send her up? I'll meet her at the sixth-floor reception."

He had not thought of the outfit that Sue was wearing, the same highly provocative green miniskirt, the intoxicating perfume and slutty-looking makeup. Eyebrows rose as she walked down the corridors. Women were either amused or resentful. Men were universally staring.

Sue didn't look like a friend, or girlfriend. She looked like he had hired a prostitute and brazenly invited her to the office. At least she wasn't wearing the leash. She made no attempt to touch Phil, but gave coy smiles to all who stared.

Phil sat her down in a chair beside his. "Your legs are crossed," he said. "Uncross them."

Sitting down, the sheer power of her legs mocked any male in eyeshot. The clear view of her thong would be enough to stain his reputation for weeks.

"Pretend you're stupid," he told her. "Like you're a simple-minded bimbo who I won over with expensive gifts."

Many men were stopping by and saying hi to him and his "friend", even those that didn't know him, referring to him as "the web guy from San Jose". Sue flirted with them all, letting their eyes greedily take in her bulging chest and open skirt. They kissed her hand, even putting their arm around her shoulder. She gushed at how "smart" they were (they weren't) and gave them perfect vacuous looks, incongruous coming from someone clearly of milf age.

She continued her cock-teasing of Phil's colleagues as they made their way to the exit. It took them a surprisingly long time to leave.

Like many tech firms, Phil's colleagues were much more Asian than the typical American population, even by New York standards. Sue hadn't failed to notice.

"So many qualified Asians at your company. Mine is like that too. Almost all my developers are Asian."

"We try," said Phil.

"You Asians are smarter than us whites. You seem to have everything under control. We spend hours studying, drift off to the TV half the time, and get Bs and Cs. You just focus and whip out A after A."

"That's not true for all Asians. During the colonial era—"

"Every Asian I know. We whites are too stupid to read history books anyway. Why do you think I have such a fetish for you? Well, that and the exotic color."

Phil could not believe that Sue held to such crude racial stereotypes. And he knew she was intelligent, more so than he. You don't get to be a director at a Wall Street firm with a private office if you aren't strong in brainpower.

"You can't make generalizations on the basis of a few—"

"Stop thinking logically," she interrupted. "Use your emotions. Give in to your baser impulses."

How would that feel? He'd had plenty of arguments with people where they judged an entire ethnic group based on just one person's behavior. They thought based on emotion, not logic. He'd always held that in contempt.

"It would feel very weird to be on the giving end of racial insults for a change."

"I think you need that, master. I think you need a white slave. After all," she added, "how many Asian girls would behave like a whore? Like me?"

Phil thought of the disgust his relatives often expressed towards the loose dress and loose morals of Western women. Already he found himself starting to think her way.

"So you're a...you're a...."

"A stupid white whore," finished Sue proudly. Phil's cock leaped for joy at the taboo insult. He felt a surge of freedom race through him. It was illogical, unfair, and arbitrary. It was evil. But damn, did it feel good!

Was this the freedom white men had once had, then lost? The freedom to say whatever they wanted to believe, no matter how racist and sexist? For the first time Phil felt some sympathy for them. To have this freedom and to lose it...no wonder they railed against the so-called tyranny of political correctness. Well, two can play that game.

He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. "I'll...I'll do it," he said excitedly. "I'm going to say or do whatever pops into my head. No matter how awful. If you don't like it, safeword."

"I won't need to safeword," she scoffed. "Treat me like dirt. Don't ask permission."

"I want to sexually harass you. Pretend you haven't agreed to anything, but don't cry out or try to get any kind of help. Make only feeble attempts to fight back."

He put his hand on her tit. She closed her eyes tightly, as if in pain. He toyed with her breasts, enjoying the feel, but also enjoying humiliating her in public.

"Open your eyes, bitch," he said.

She looked at him, fear and trepidation in her eyes.

"Do you still want me to hurt you, slave?"

"Yes, master."

He lifted his hand close to her face, then quickly slapped her, right there on the street.

She looked stunned for a moment but rallied quickly. "I deserved that, master," she said proudly. She pointedly turned her head to the other side. She was literally turning the other cheek.

"You didn't deserve that. But I did," replied Phil, slapping her, harder this time, on the other cheek.

He saw her flinch, knew he was hurting her, but neither could he slap that sly grin off her face. Nor did he want to. Was this not yet another, deeper taboo? Couples spank each other, as traditional parents spank children, but slapping on the face is forbidden, an act done more to humiliate than to hurt.

A wild energy was flooding through Phil. He desired Sue in that moment more than any woman he'd ever known. But he just as desperately wanted to make her uncomfortable.

He resorted to something Sue had never agreed to do in person.

He spat in her face.

The white spot hit her in the eye, dripping down her cheek like a grim talisman. But the defilement only made her more beautiful. Sue's expression was radiant.

"How do you like being spit on, bitch?"

"I love it, my lord."

"Why?"

"I told you, master. I love being used and abused."

"Let's do it then." He put his hand in the street, signaling a cab.

"You're paying for this cab, cunt," he said loudly as they got in.

"Yes, dear."

The driver looked at them quizzically through the mirror, seeing the spit on Sue's cheek. She looked coolly back, making a kissing motion in his direction. They headed for the sex shop.

***

"This looks like something," said Sue, pointing at a paddle.

"Nope," said Phil. "Spanking is for kids. This is what I want." He pointed to a nylon whip. It was at least three feet long, a thick handle leading down to a fearsome-looking lash.

Sue looked scared. "This one?"

Phil was scanning through the instructions on the back of the package. "We don't have to get it if you don't want to," he said.

"Do you want it?"

"Yes."

"Then I want it," said Sue bravely. Phil grabbed her and planted a smackeroo on her lips right then and there. His hands started to maul her ass—

"Do you mind paying for your stuff first?" asked the salesman, annoyed.

***

1987 it was. Fall.

Maybe high school wouldn't be so bad after all, Phil thought. He had been determined to make as many friends as possible, going out of his way to talk to as many as he could.

It hadn't always gone well, more than once he just seemed to find himself on the outside of conversations, listening to others talk about TV shows he'd never watched, music he didn't like, or sports he wasn't interested in. But he persevered.

Today a teacher had assigned him to a small study group with Michelle and Tricia. That latter name excited him; she was a bright-faced blonde, a lovely angelic face that he often thought of late at night.

It didn't take long for the girls to start yakking among themselves, talking about any subject under the sun except, of course, the assignment they were supposed to be working on.

He tried to figure out a way to contribute. "My mom wants me to go to bed at ten," Tricia was complaining. "I mean, who the hell goes to bed at ten o'clock?"

"I do," said Phil tentatively.

Tricia stared at him as if he'd said something deeply offensive. "Well, who cares about you? You're ugly."

***

Phil didn't send Sue to his hotel, but the one across the street. The bar had only a light crowd. She sat by herself, looking nervous but extremely sexy.

Phil came in, boorish, loutish, and horny. He walked up to Sue like he owned her, leaned in, and kissed her hard on the lips.

She didn't kiss him back. Her body stiffened, her eyes shut.

"That's right, whore," he jeered. "Lie back and think of England, they used to say."

He grabbed at her breasts, squeezing them, pulling them. Her body did not belong to her, it belonged to him. His property. His cock rose in anticipation.

He put his hand up her skirt. What drove his passion hardest wasn't the softness of her skin, the sexiness of her body, nor the scent of her perfume, delightful as all three were. It was the emotion on her face, the helplessness, as if she was a real slave. Phil owned her, so only his feelings mattered. The sense of liberation that gave him was extraordinary.

It was belied by how wet her cunt was, a wetness totally at odds with the expression of fear and pain on her face. He fingered her, far from gently, pulling on her clit, rubbing it, invading her with his fingers. And, sure enough, her face began to soften.